


They Have No Use for Your Song

by Wife_of_Bath



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Ghosts, Late Night Conversations, Period-Typical Racism, against the irish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 05:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21221705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wife_of_Bath/pseuds/Wife_of_Bath
Summary: Hickey has a visitor.Written for Halloween Terrorfest Day 10: Sometimes, dead is better





	They Have No Use for Your Song

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "You're Dead" aka the credits song for What We Do in the Shadows

He slept lightly, always had. Experience had taught him that. It did not matter if it was a hammock on a creaking ship, a corner in a dark alley nestled behind empty crates and filthy rubbish, or a lumpy mattress in a cheap, rented room; he learned early to always sleep with one ear out and one eye open. So it was no surprise when a gust of cold wind cutting through the tent stirred him from his slumber. Opening his eyes, he blinked slowly and jolted upright at the sight before him. He was not a man easily frightened, nor was he particularly superstitious, even with the things he had seen in the last year, but this was enough to set him on edge. Quickly, he spared a glance at Billy, who groaned and stirred but mercifully remained asleep, before turning his attention back to the visitor in front of him.

“I’m dreaming,” he declared, “or I’m hallucinating.” One was infinitely preferable to the other.

Cornelius Hickey shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He appeared just as he had that night outside the pub, tall, fair, round-faced, and the most eager eyes. There was something off about him though, like the shimmering halos of light in the distance before the ships were locked in the ice. “Pinch yourself and find out.”

“It’s been three years,” he whispered low to not wake Billy. “What are you doing here?” 

“Just because you haven’t seen me doesn’t mean I wasn’t there. You just weren’t looking in the right places. Why shouldn’t I be? Keeping an eye on the man who took my name. And look what you’ve done to it. I’d have rather be strung up than do the things you’ve stooped to.”

“That’s an easy thing to say, considering you’re already dead,” he said. 

“Well you robbed me of the opportunity to find out what I’d do, didn’t you?” 

He leaned back on his elbows. He could see the weave of the canvas tent through Hickey’s translucent body. “God grants us many things in this world, but He does not grant us ghosts!” Irving had insisted outside the deadroom. He himself had never believed in such things, although he had nightmares for weeks the first time he stuck a knife in someone. Briefly, he wondered how Irving would look, if he appeared now. Would he stand in his uniform, pompous and self-righteous, or would he be scalped, bloody, and mutilated? He supposed it was a small mercy that it was Hickey before him instead of the lieutenant. 

“I’ve never spoken to the dead before. How does this go? Do I ask you questions about the great unknowns, and you answer them, or do we converse like two living men?”

“I’ll tell you what you told me that night. ‘Whatever you like.’”

“That wasn’t all I told you.”

“No,” Hickey said. “You told me how brave and adventurous I was, going on a grand expedition. And it was so easy to talk about it because the stranger beside me seemed very easy to impress. And looking at you, I kept thinking, ‘There’s a pair of eyes someone could write a song about.’ Until I stopped thinking because I never noticed that you weren’t drinking too.” He remembered it well. Poor gormless idiot, drunk, excited, and surprised at the amount of attention he was getting. It had been nothing to lure him out, press him hard against the brick wall, and slide a knife between his ribs. It was so quick. Hickey did not even cry out, just a short gasp of breath before he slid to the ground. There was not even very much blood.

“Are you making yourself known because you’ve finally decided to haunt me, Mr. Hickey?”

Hickey shook his head. “Don’t see much value in that, really. There’s enough coming for you that one poor Irishman isn’t going to make much of a difference.”

He sat up, suddenly curious. “What do you mean?”

“Oh I can’t say. But I suppose one could make the point you did me a mercy. If the…what’s the name of the handsome marine with the strong arms…Solomon? If Solomon knew what you were planning, he’d shoot you like he shot John Morfin, and the others will wish they threw themselves in that fire at Carnivale.”

“What are you talking about?” He had no plans to get rid of Tozer, not yet at least; he was too valuable right now.

“There are things out there you’d be wise to steer away from, but you’re too foolish to see. I keep well away, and I’m dead.”

“What things?” Hickey said nothing. “What things?” he repeated, a little louder. Was he speaking of the Creature? Hickey knew nothing. How could a simple Irishman possibly understand?

“You’ll find out.”

His temper rose. He could abide Cornelius Hickey’s presence fine, even find it amusing, but he had enough of this cryptic talk. “Say what you mean, you bloody Mick,” he hissed. Beside him, Billy shifted, disturbed by the sudden noise.

“Ah, easy, easy.” Hickey smiled. It was cold and too sharp for his face. “You wouldn’t want to wake him up and have to explain who I am, hmm?” He gazed at Billy keenly. “What a fine thing he is. You’ll bury him.”

Who was Cornelius Hickey to tell him what he would and wouldn’t do? “I won’t.”

“No,” Hickey replied. “You won’t.”

The contraction confused him, but he refused to press Hickey for answers. These questions made him feel like an inept constable, uselessly poking and prodding. “If you keep being vague, I’ll get something from Goodsir to drive you away.”

“You’ll need something very strong then. He will say he has nothing.”

“He’s lying.”

“That’s what he will say.” 

There was something Hickey was not telling him. Not about Goodsir or Billy, not the slippery half-truths that were too clever for the shy lad he had killed, but about his presence. There had to be a reason for Hickey to reveal himself after so long. He did not believe it was simply a good opportunity for a chat.

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

Hickey was silent for a moment. “I suppose I wanted to see which of us was better off. Look at you,” he grinned. “You’ve got expectations. You’re free from any responsibilities. You’ve got him,” he nodded at Billy. “There are men who will follow you wherever you lead them. They believe in you. You’re alive.” His eyes were too bright in the darkness, reflecting light that was not there. His grin spread into a wide smile. “In the end, you’ll wish you were me.”


End file.
